His voice had risen, and he was speaking in a glow that seemed to drop a spark into each listening heart. He knew now that they believed. He turned abruptly for the present. Father Claude was so absorbed in following the speech, and in watching the maid, who sat with flushed cheeks and lowered eyes, that he was not ready, and Menard stooped and took the book. He could not avoid seeing the maid, when he looked down; and the priest felt a sudden pain in his own heart to see the look of utter weariness that came into the Captain’s eyes.
Menard turned the leaves of the book for a moment, as if to collect himself, and then held 269 it open so that the Indians could see the bright pictures. There was a craning of necks in the outer circles.
“In these picture writings is told the story of the ‘Ceremonies of the Mass applied to the Passion of Our Lord,’” he said slowly. “And our Lord is your Great Spirit. It brings you a message; it tells you that the white man is a good man, who punishes his own son as sternly as his red child.”
The present pleased the Big Throat. He would not let his curiosity appear in the council, but he dropped the book so that it fell open, seemingly by accident, and his eyes strayed to it now and then during the last word of the speech. Menard did not hesitate again.
“I have told my Onondaga brothers that this white dog shall be punished,” he said. “When this word is given in your council in the voice of Onontio, it is a word that cannot be broken. Wind is not strong enough, thunder is not loud enough, waves are not fierce enough, snows are not cold enough, powder is not swift enough to break it.” The words came swiftly from his lips. Calm old chiefs leaned forward that they might catch every 270 syllable. Eyes were brighter with interest. The Long Arrow, thinking of his son and fearing lest the man who killed him should slip from his grasp, grew troubled and more stern. At last Menard turned, and taking the portrait from the priest’s hands held it up, slowly turning it so that all could see it in the uncertain firelight. At first they were puzzled and surprised; then a murmur of recognition ran from lip to lip.
“You know this maid,” Menard was saying, “this maid who to all who love the Iroquois, to all who love the church, the Great Spirit, is a saint. Her spirit has been for many moons in the happy hunting ground. The snow has lain cold and heavy on her grave. The night bird has sung her beauty in the empty forest. Catherine Outasoren has come back from the land where the corn is always growing, where the snows can never fall; she has come back to bear you the word of the Great Mountain. She has come to tell you that the dog who broke the oath of the white man to the Onondagas must suffer. This is the pledge of the Great Mountain.”
He stopped abruptly, and stood looking with flashing eyes at the circle of chiefs. There was 271 silence for a moment, then a murmur that rapidly rose and swelled into the loud chatter of many voices. Menard laid the portrait at the feet of the Big Throat, and took his seat at the side of the maid,––but he did not look at her nor she at him. Father Claude sat patiently waiting.
There was low talk among the chiefs. Then a warrior came and led the captives out of doors, through a long passage that opened between two rows of crowding Indians. The night was clear, and the air was sweet to their nostrils. They walked slowly down the path. A group of young braves kept within a few rods.
“It must be late,” said Menard, in a weak effort to break the silence.
“Yes,” replied Father Claude.